


The Dragon's Boy

by tinkerbird



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cecil is a Dragon, Dragons, F/F, M/M, Trans Male Character, carlos is a prince, kevin is literally elsa but with fire, rapunzel type ideas, rpg inspired setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkerbird/pseuds/tinkerbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy AU- Carlos was kidnapped at a young age and locked away in a tower guarded by a dragon known as Cecil. After many years, the two escape together and are employed by a young lord to run dangerous errands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Child in the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought my first fic for this fandom would be about dragons. Honestly don't know what happened. I think I just desperately wanted to make some of my own mythos, cause wow it's fun to get creative like,,,,

In some distant land, there grows a thick, vast forest that no one, even today, dares enter. For centuries, that forest has been home to all manner of thieves, thugs, and dangerous undesirables who seek solace within the dense foliage. However, if one were to venture within its depths, they would find that about halfway through, there stands a single stone tower. 

The tower is round, tall enough to see above the trees and wide enough to contain an entire house. There are windows near the top of the tower, and a large set of locked doors at its base. If one were to open these doors (a relatively simple task, as they are now certainly decayed to ruin and could be bashed in with little effort), one would find steps leading to an enormous cellar. As the cellar is completely empty, and there is no way to reach the rest of the tower, there is no apparent reason for such a structure to be built.

However, if there _were_ a way to reach the uppermost chamber of the tower, one would find, surprisingly, a small home. Chairs and a bed are lined up, dusting, against a wall. Yellowed papers with the drawings of at least two children hang proudly beside a half empty bookcase, a young lady’s dresses lying forgotten on the floor with a pair of rusted scissors. It is clear that the tower was indeed lived in, but not for some time.

The first resident of the tower was a young dragon. His name, as of this point in our story, will remain a secret. A dragon’s true name is a sacred thing, and to learn it represents an unspeakable kind of trust, a forged bond between them and another rarely found in one lifetime. This unnamed wyrmling was taken from his mother by a _despicable_ old hag to guard a stolen treasure on hers in the tower. He hated the tower, he loathed her, and he detested that treasure. He was not allowed near it, nor had he been told what it was. But he hated it still. That vile, abhorrent object, whatever it was, was the reason that he was trapped in such a prison in the first place. He did not need to see it to know that, thus the contempt he held for it was, in his mind, justified.

Then one night, the young dragon heard a soft noise echoing from far above him, at the very top of the tower. It was very faint, and in fact he might not have heard it at all if he were anything less than his species, or if the walls had not been made to allow sound to travel well. It was a strange noise indeed… If it was a bird call, it certainly did not belong to any bird he had encountered. 

Was its owner dangerous? Was it one of those…. What had his mother called them? _Dovakriid_? She had always warned him to stay away from those, with their sharp blades, and their metal scales… They killed dragons, especially little ones like himself. He had even heard stories of them wearing talons around their necks as _trophies_ …. But he didn’t believe it.

Still, he could not hide the trembling that shook his entire form as he slowly crept up the wall of the tower. The dragon could not yet fly the distance, as his wings were not yet strong enough to carry him more than a few feet, but he was still light enough to climb. He decided to go as far as the nearest window above, and while the hag had placed a curse on him that prevented him from leaving the tower, he was decently certain that he would at least be able to crawl through the window and peek through to the room above. If not, well… at least he tried.

As he got higher, closer to the window, the sound began getting louder. The dragon temporarily let his growing nerves and curiosity distract him, briefly losing his grip on a stone. He let out a yelp of surprise, and the noises stopped. Then they started again, only this time they were louder, more urgent. The dragon had been discovered.

There was no use in going back down now. Whatever was up there now knew of his presence anyway, so he might as well learn of its, dangerous or not. He was still dreadfully curious, and if that curiosity got him killed, so be it. At least he’d be out of that cursed tower.

The dragon was in fact able to go outside, as he suspected, and he quietly made his way up the tower. One peek inside, however, shocked him. 

For inside the tower was a fully furnished living quarter, complete with a nearly full cupboard of food. And within the quarter, curled up against one wall, was a little sobbing human child.

The dragon was no expert on humans. He had met a few, and once even got to play with their offspring, once, which was how he knew the difference between a child and an adult. But they were an odd kind. They only had one name, and they were so very willing to give it away to others. How inappropriate that was! And they often wore bits of cloth, placing a great importance on what type of cloth and even the color. He supposed it made sense, as the humans had no scales with which to protect themselves from the elements. But it was also silly, the dragon thought, that some bits of cloth were for females and other bits of cloth were for males.

Humans were indeed funny creatures, but the dragon had always found them to be cute, and this child was certainly no exception. From the size, it seemed to be quite young, barely old enough to walk, with eyes larger than the moon, rosy cheeks, and delicate skin the color of wildflower honey. Its hair was thick, darker than ash, and it fell in long, soft, messy curls around the child’s sweet face. It was a beautiful child, and the dragon loved it instantly.

He wanted to comfort the child, but remembered that humans are easily startled by unfamiliar beings, especially those that are not like them. His mother warned him of this, and taught him to change his form when visiting a human village; at this point, he’d had enough practice to become good at it. Good enough to keep just about any form with very little thought. 

The dragon quickly took the appearance of a young human boy and climbed through the window, softly calling out to the child and promising that he meant no harm. The little one became frightened and hid under a table. 

“I won’t hurt you,’ promised the dragon boy, his voice lowered to a soothing murmur. 

He held out a hand, and the child flinched from it as if expecting to be struck. When the blow never came, it looked genuinely surprised, looking up at the apparently kind stranger with tears still in its lovely eyes. The dragon smiled, gently placing the hand against the child’s cheek, and the child smiled back. He then remembered how, in the village, human mothers carried their young, and decided to try doing the same. The dragon lifted the tiny human into his arms, and it responded by pressing its little face into his chest, tugging gently at his hair, and quietly uttering the word ‘pretty’.

From that day forward, the dragon vowed to protect the infant in the tower, becoming its sole guardian and friend. He took care of it, though he supposed that since humans aged differently, they were more or less the same age. How adorable yet bizarre it was to think that humans were entirely incapable of doing much for their first two years of life! 

Yet because of that, soon enough the child grew to be more of a playmate than his odd surrogate hatchling. It learned to speak, to understand things and to reason. And it was unbelievably bright. It quickly learned to read, and insisted that the dragon listen to it do so. It was absolutely adorable, and he was _so_ proud. The child even gave him a sweet little nickname, which he proudly took as his public name, the one that would use to introduce himself to strangers… no self respecting dragon was without one, after all! And he was taken away before he was old enough to be given a proper one.  
The child called him ‘Cecil’, after a character in a book that apparently the dragon reminded it of. The dragon, Cecil, loved the name, and he loved the child. The child loved Cecil, as well; it became familiar with his true form and never once showed signs of fear. In fact, it always seemed fascinated by the fact that its companion was less than human, constantly asking about how it _was_ to be a dragon, how to say things in the language of his people, about all of their differences. And Cecil, of course, was thrilled to teach it, as he had never had such an opportunity before and most likely, never would again.

“Cecil,” it said to him one day, at some point during their fourth year together. “Don’t you suppose that I should have a name?” 

Cecil said nothing. He had always assumed the child HAD one. He just thought that perhaps it had never come up in conversation.

“Cecil,” the child said again. “Am I a boy? Or a girl?” 

And Cecil again said nothing. The question embarrassed him, as even after all this time, he was unable to tell the difference in humans! All of them, with the obvious exception of course being his own, looked exactly alike to him.

The child shrugged, getting up to find something to read. “Since you won’t answer, I’ll have to decide on my own.” 

Humans can really do that? Cecil thought, but remained silent, for fear of looking foolish.

“I am a boy,” said the child, absentmindedly. “I’ve decided.”

“How do you figure that?” Cecil asked.

“It makes sense, somehow.” He lifted a book from the shelf in front of him, tapping at the back of the cover. “Do you see this?”

“An engraving?”   
“They belonged to CARLOS,” the smaller boy replied. “And they belong to me now. So now I’m Carlos too.” He sat the book down and shrugged.

Cecil laughed. “That doesn’t make sense!”

The boy, Carlos, crossed his arms, frowning. “It’s a good enough name, isn’t it?” he huffed. “And I like it. So there!”  
“It still makes no sense.”

“You’re a dragon!”

Cecil was going to ask what _that_ had to do with _anything_ …but he decided that it was probably best not to start an argument. Carlos always had a way of winning those, no matter what he tried.

Years passed, and the pair grew together. And as time went on, they found themselves loving each other more and more… or, well. At least Cecil did. At times, it was hard for him to tell exactly _how_ Carlos felt; he had always been a bit hard to read. But it was very clear that he indeed felt _something_. That much was certain from the way Carlos looked at him, spoke his name fondly and treated each syllable gently, as though it would shatter if not uttered with such adoration. Yes, the way he said Cecil’s name made it seem like a royal title more than a simple name. And on winter nights, when the tower’s altitude and stone floors left it almost uninhabitable, and the dragon’s coldblooded constitution left him absolutely miserable, Carlos would sit with him near the tiny yet welcoming fireplace in the very center of the room. He would cover him with quilts and his own body in hopes of keeping him warm, not quite succeeding, but well, it was still very _nice_. It was better than nothing, and Cecil appreciated the gesture.

Carlos loved Cecil, of course. But Cecil would have _killed_ for his human. Now, obviously he would not ordinarily condone murder, or really any other kind of violence, as his mother had surely taught him better than to fix his problems in such a barbaric way. _Some_ dragons may have just gone about setting fire to villages, vanquishing their enemies, and all of that old-fashioned nonsense. But not Cecil of the esteemed clan of Hiram, _that_ was for sure. He had _manners_.

He loved his darling Carlos enough to do something entirely against his character to protect him, so it goes without saying that he would have gladly died for him as well. They belonged together, and together they would stay. And if blood were to be spilt, of Cecil’s own or of some future enemy, to keep Carlos with him… unfortunately, it would just have to be spilt. 

Cecil honestly doubted that it ever would. That is, until one night during their sixteenth year together.

The hag made regular appearances at the tower, stopping in to replace Carlos’s clothing as he grew and to berate him for speaking too loudly, slouching, or really anything else she could readily think of. It usually took all of Cecil’s willpower to refrain from speaking up; however, as he was to remain out of sight while the old bat was still there, he could do nothing. If she knew that he had escaped his cellar…. Well. It would have caused trouble. And so, he always kept the form of something small and easily hidden, like an ant, until she left. 

It never got any easier to witness the sort of things she did to his Carlos. She tore apart every facet of his personality, every physical attribute, every word that his lips gave life that was neither ‘yes’ nor ‘ma’am’. She ridiculed all parts of him that Cecil cherished, and if, gods above forbid, she caused him to flinch or sob in her presence, if his voice so much as trembled when he answered her, she would become violently angry. This constant abuse instilled a fear in Carlos so strong that he would often spend whole nights awake just because he heard a lizard climbing the outer wall and mistook it for _her_.

Cecil took it as a personal offense. This loathsome old _shrew_ turned the handsome, intelligent, vibrant love of his life into the quivering and fearful husk of his usual self. And the worst part was that he was entirely helpless to stop it. All Cecil could do was watch, and bite his tongue until it bled.

Until that one fateful night. The night when everything changed for what he hoped was the better. 

Cecil really didn’t know what the argument had been over (he found it easier to tune out everything that was said, as what was said never failed to make his blood boil). All he knew was that the hag had finally, after all those years, had the nerve to lay her unworthy hands on his beloved Carlos. She tore his sleeve. Grabbed his arm roughly enough to draw blood with her gnarled fingernails, and struck him with enough force to leave a bruise.

Cecil saw red.

Consequently, so did she. Then black. Then, at last, nothing at all. Nothing _ever_ again.

He and Carlos never spoke of this again. They never needed to, as one thing, for both of them, became at once very, very clear.

Cecil would stop at nothing to keep his love safe.


	2. The Knight and the Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to cry look at how long this chapter is

Carlos was getting…. Ideas.

The witch was gone, and because of that, he felt an overwhelming sense of freedom. The freedom to do whatever he wanted without fear of retribution, and well.

Cecil didn’t like it.

He was of course overjoyed by his darling’s sudden happiness, but there were things about his newfound attitude that worried him. What if he left the tower? That wouldn’t do. Not at all. Cecil didn’t know if the hag’s demise meant that he could leave the tower with Carlos, or if the magic binding him to the place was strong enough to survive even the death of its conjurer, but he was in no rush to find out. Even if Cecil could and did leave with him, Carlos would certainly find another human, someone better, and fall in love with them instead, because surely he only loved him because he’d had nothing better to compare him to. He would forget all about Cecil and their time together in the castle, leaving him with nothing. Without Carlos he _was_ nothing.

All was normal for two days. Then Carlos cut his hair for the first time, and Cecil nearly wept.

“Cecil, it was nearly five feet long. I kept tripping over it; I had to do _something_.”

“But did you have to take it _all_?” he whined plaintively, clutching the shorn locks in desperate disbelief.

“It gets hot in the summer!”

Cecil didn’t hear him; he was nearly in a state of panic. _This is it_ , he thought. _The end_. Carlos was as good as gone—why else would he rid himself of all that beautiful hair? Obviously he was trying to make it all easier to keep up when traveling. There could be no other reason. None whatsoever.

Carlos knelt beside the mourning dragon, and with a soft sigh, he took one of Cecil’s hands in his, kissing it lightly. “I had no idea it would upset you this much,” he murmured apologetically. “Cecil… it’s only _hair_ …”

No, Cecil wanted to say, it’s not only hair. But instead, he simply nodded and gently smoothed down a few of the newly shortened strands.

“It’s so short,” he lamented.

“Is it really that terrible?”

“No,” Cecil admitted, helplessly. “You still look lovely.”

A few days passed, and his poor, sweet human fell ill. His body ached, his mind was burning with fever, and he could do little else but sleep and cling to Cecil like a helpless child. It was painful to watch, but a small part of the dragon felt a sense of shameful relief. Carlos would not be leaving the tower for another night or two, at least. Not in that condition, surely….

Cecil cursed himself, and became instantly overwhelmed with remorse, and with _disgust_. How _dare_ he think that way? Wishing illness upon his _Carlos_? Nearly mad with dread or not, that was an absolutely _vile_ thing to do; it was a low that before he would have never considered himself sinking to. Was Carlos even _safe_ with him anymore?

For the first time, Cecil felt truly wicked.

-

_He_ arrived no later than a few days after that.

Cecil was of course the first to be woken up by it, that awful racket _he_ was causing at the base of the tower. He ignored it at first, mistaking it for a wild animal or strange wind, and tried to go back to sleep. But as the noises got louder, it became clear that they were made by no wild animal. They were made by a person. Someone was shouting just below them.

Cecil was still going to ignore it. If he didn’t respond to whoever was out there, they would surely give up after an hour or so and leave. However, he began to worry that the yelling would wake Carlos, who was still in the process of recovering from his sickness and who definitely did _not_ need to be disturbed by some loud stranger. So, with a soft growl, Cecil got up and climbed down to the cellar to hopefully get _rid_ of the annoyance.

(Not permanently, of course! The interloper had done nothing wrong, short of trespassing and being a minor nuisance. They simply needed scaring off, and dragons were well-known for being talented at just that.)

There was a man at the bottom of the tower—or what Cecil presumed to be a man; he was human, and those tended to look alike. Except for Carlos, and this man was not like Carlos at all. He was broader than Carlos, neither as soft nor as handsome, and there was _hair_ sprouting from the lower half of his face. That was certainly not where hair belonged, not on a human, and it made him look… unfortunate. Poor thing must have had a disease. Another odd thing about the man was that instead of covering himself with bits of cloth, he used plates of metal instead. Some of the metal, however, was woven together _like_ cloth, and Cecil wondered how the humans managed _that_. 

The man was shouting something about a ‘damsel’, and being there to ‘rescue her’. Hm. Obviously the poor, double-haired creature had come to the wrong tower. Cecil didn’t think that was an easy mistake to make, but then again, the stranger had managed to mistake metal for cloth, so he must not have been terribly bright. In that case, no scaring was really required; he just needed to be guided in the right direction.

“Are you lost?” called Cecil from the cellar doorway.

The man, just noticing the other’s presence, was visibly startled. “Who goes there?” he demanded, brandishing a sword.

“Listen, you _really_ don’t need—”

The man held the blade closer, causing Cecil to take an uneasy step back. “State your name.”

“Cecil. All right,” he began, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way—”

“What is your purpose here?”

Cecil frowned. He was starting to get annoyed. “Are you going to stop interrupting me any time soon? Your people _do_ know how to hold a polite conversation, don’t they?” he asked, crossing his arms in indignation. 

The man seemed almost affronted by this, and grew suddenly very angry. “You insolent _cur_! You have no _idea_ what your disrespect will cost you.”

Cecil scoffed. “He attempts to break into my home, wakes me up with his incessant shouting, and suddenly _I’m_ the disrespectful one.”

“This is your home?”

“Yes!”

“Then _you’ve_ got the maiden!” the stranger roared, lunging forward with his blade.

“There _is_ no maiden!” screamed Cecil, stopping the man and his sword just before he was hit. “I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. She doesn’t exist! Or if she does, she does not exist here.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Or you’re an idiot.”

“I have a sword aimed directly at your throat.”

“And I think that’s _adorable_ ,” said the boy in mock pleasantness. “But it doesn’t change the fact that there is not, nor was there ever, a girl in this tower. I would know, I’ve lived in it for most of my life.”

“I should have you imprisoned,” growled the man, “for lying to a knight of Lord Marcus.”

Cecil shrugged. “My freedom means nothing to me. And besides, your human nobility has no authority over my kind.”

The stranger let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Your kind? And what would that be?”

The young man before him disappeared into a mass of obsidian and Byzantium scales, rapidly growing in size and shape until a full grown, twenty foot tall wyvern. The creature threw its head forward, baring its long white fangs at him and proudly proclaiming “DRAGONKIND!”

The knight stumbled back in shock, tripping over a root and landing unceremoniously on his behind, causing the dragon to let out a barking laugh. 

“STATE YOUR NAME,” demanded Cecil, mocking the knight.

“Sir Steve,” he replied. “Of Carlsberg.”

“WELL, _SIR STEVE OF **CARLSBERG**_ ,” the dragon spat the words as if they were poisonous, “AS I HAVE TOLD YOU, THERE IS NO MAIDEN HERE. LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER RETURN!”

“Am I supposed to believe a _monster_?” asked Steve, once again pointing his sword at him. “Tell me where she is, or I will _not_ cease to end your life!”

“YOU WOULDN’T _DARE_ TRY TO USE THAT SEWING NEEDLE ON ME.”

“Why not?” The knight smirked. “Are you going to breathe fire on me?”

Cecil was personally offended. “EVERYONE KNOWS THAT BREATHING FIRE IS A MARK OF PEASANTRY AMONGST OUR PEOPLE. I BELONG TO THE LINE OF _HIRAM_ , SUGGEST ANY LESS OF MY LINEAGE AND I WILL HAVE YOUR _HEAD ON A **STAKE**_!” 

“Not if I have yours first.” And with that, Steve swung his blade forward, slashing the dragon’s left shoulder. 

Cecil roared in pain and surprise, his tail swatting the knight with enough force to knock him off his feet. He could have trampled him, even accidentally, but a voice from the tower caused both of them to stop dead in their tracks. 

“Cecil? What are you doing down there?”

The dragon gasped softly. “Carlos…!” So much for not waking him… Wonderful, _Steve Carlsberg_.

“Who’s that with you?”

Steve looked up towards the window. “Mi—” Cecil covered his mouth with one taloned foot. 

“He’s no one, Carlos,” lied Cecil. “He just has the wrong address, that’s all.”

 

“If he’s no one, why is he on the ground?”

“He tripped.” Steve attempted to free himself from under the dragon to speak, but in return, Cecil lightly added pressure to the pad covering his mouth. “He’s very _clumsy_.”

Carlos sighed so loudly that it could almost be heard at the foot of the tower below. “Let him go.”

“But…” Cecil began, conflicted.

“ _Please_.”

With that, the dragon reluctantly released the man, looking down at the grass like a scolded dog. 

“Apologize, Cecil.”

“ _Carlos_ ,” he whined. “He _cut_ me…” He lifted his wing to reveal the mark left by the sword for emphasis, looking absolutely pitiable as he did so.

“He did?” asked Carlos.

“For no reason,” Cecil added solemnly.

“Come here and let me have a look at it,” said Carlos. “Can you get back up?”

“I’ll _try_ …”

“Bring your friend, too.”

“But Carlos…” the dragon complained, lifting his wing a bit. “I’m injured….”

“Try,” the other pleaded. “I want to have a word with him.”

Cecil glared at Steve before heaving his mighty wings a few times, making a _great_ apparent effort to do so, until he was a few feet off the ground. He plucked the knight up roughly with one claw like a hawk would a rodent, and with him flew to the top window of the tower. The dragon then stopped abruptly, hissed a brief “Get in or I swear on the gods I will drop you” to Steve, and once rid of his passenger, returned to human form just in time to fit through the window himself. It was a bit of a timed leap, but he’d gotten good at it.

Carlos helped Cecil over to sit on the edge of the bed, where he whined loudly and pressed his face to the other’s chest like a frightened child. “Shhhh,” Carlos said soothingly, petting his hair. “I’m here.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “The lizard belongs to you, then?”

Carlos frowned. “He is no lizard, and he certainly is no one’s _property_.”

The knight sighed. “I apologize for causing you so much trouble. I seemed to have misunderstood the situation.”

“I _told_ him, Carlos,” Cecil asserted. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“You still didn’t have to attack me.”

Cecil gasped at the accusation. “I _never_!” He turned to Carlos defensively. “Carlos, I—”

Carlos responded by gently “shush”ing him, then spoke to Steve. “He wasn’t trying to attack you,” he promised. “He must have gotten scared. He likes to make himself look bigger to seem threatening, that’s all. But he’s really just a big marshmallow.”

Steve frowned. “I respectfully disagree.”

“No, look at him!” said Carlos, lightly scratching the underside of Cecil’s chin. Despite himself, the dragon let out a series of low, contented chirps and leaned into the touch. “He’s _adorable_.”

“Thank you.”

“Besides,” Carlos added sharply, “Cecil isn’t the one that drew blood.”

The knight sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to _him_.” He gently assessed Cecil’s wound, then cooed sympathetically, “Look at you, all bloody. Poor thing…”

“He’s faking it,” Steve mumbled under his breath. 

“It’s not deep,” Carlos announced, pressing a light kiss to the cut. “A mere scratch. You’ve done no harm, right, Cecil?”

Cecil replied with a halfhearted grunt of “ _Right_.”

“Your name is Carlos, is it?” asked Steve.

“Yes,” he answered. “What was yours, again?”

“Sir _Steve_ of _Carlsberg_ ,” snarled Cecil. 

“I’ve been sent by Lord Marcus of Night Vale to rescue the lady trapped in this tower. But…” He sighed. “You don’t seem very _trapped_.”

Carlos smirked. “I’m also very much _not_ a lady.”

“Is that to mean you’re a ‘rebellious type’ who wears pants, plays outdoors, and is ‘not like other girls’?” Steve asked jokingly. 

“Well, no… It’s just that, and correct me if I’m wrong, Sir Carlsberg….. I was under the assumption that most, if not all ladies were _women_.”

They were silent.

“I believe there’s been a mistake,” said Steve at last.

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Carlos. It was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed not to laugh; he supposed it was an honest blunder, but it was also an absurd one. How did the man not notice sooner?

He shrugged diffidently, gesturing to the window. “I could still take you to meet Lord Marcus, anyway. I’m sure the sex of the person in the tower would make no difference to him, and I don’t think he would appreciate me coming back alone.”

No, thought Cecil. Just leave. Leave now, without Carlos, and never return.

Carlos briefly glanced at Cecil, eyes shining with excitement, but said nothing.

“I will give you until tomorrow morning to consider it. But after that, I will have to return to Night Vale.”

With that, the knight left, and Carlos began gathering things from around the tower.

“What are you doing?” Cecil asked fearfully.

“Packing,” replied Carlos. “What else would I be doing?”

“You…” the dragon swallowed. “You aren’t really going with him are you? I mean…” He suddenly felt ill. 

Carlos stopped, turning to look at him. “Of course I’m going. Cecil, he wants me to go with him to a town. A town full of _people_. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Well… if you _like_ that sort of thing….” Cecil tried weakly. “I’ve heard towns aren’t…. Aren’t _that_ great…”

“I’ve wanted out of this tower my _whole life_ ,” said Carlos. He then quickly added, “Not that you aren’t good enough! I just… always wanted more.”

Cecil managed a tiny, heartbroken, “Oh.”

“I thought…. I thought that’s what we _both_ wanted….”

“We didn’t,” assured Cecil.

The day had come. His Carlos was finally leaving, and… the pain was even more devastating than he could have ever imagined. But still, Cecil could not allow himself to so much as shed a tear until Carlos had gone, because then he might stay. And he could never force him to do that… not if he wanted to go. No, Carlos would go on with _Steve_ , maybe even marry him, and live happily ever after. Meanwhile Cecil would just… stay there, in the tower, and hopefully die soon.

“Do you really want to stay here?” Carlos asked.

“No… That’s not it…”

“Then what is?”

Cecil’s gaze fell to the floor. “I… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted quietly. “The witch…. I could never reach the trees outside the door without… well, it felt as though something were _burning_ me.”

“Oh, Cecil….” breathed Carlos with sudden understanding. “Surely… Surely it’s worth trying? Just once more?”

“I’ll try… For you, Carlos.” He sighed. “But… what if I can’t leave? What if I _am_ trapped here?”

Carlos held him close, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

“You can’t!” cried Cecil. “I won’t let you give up your dream, Carlos! Not for _me_ …”

“Cecil. Look at me.” The human lovingly held the dragon’s face in both hands, helping him make eye contact. “No dream without you is one I want anything to do with.”

“Oh Carlos…”

“We’ll give it a try,” said Carlos. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll spend our lives here and forget all about what happened today.”

Cecil nodded uncertainly. “And… you won’t leave?”

“Why would I? You’re all I’ve ever needed, anyway.”

Cecil was so relieved he felt as though he could fly.

So fly he did, out of the window and into the clouds above with Carlos on his back, and together they reached the trees and beyond without the familiar pain. 

“We did it!” Carlos cried, elated. 

“We did?”

“We made it!” He threw a fist into the air in triumphant glee, relishing the new feeling of wind on his face.

Cecil beamed. He had never seen Carlos so happy, and he’d never been allowed this kind of room to fly. If this was only the beginning of what the future held for them, perhaps…. Perhaps freedom would be wonderful after all.


End file.
